Harry Potter and the Long Road Home
by Big D on a Diet
Summary: Seventh year AU HarryLilyPetunia Harry has a showdown with the Dark Lord, and everything changes.
1. Chapter one

Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. No shit.

Chapter One: Of All the Bad Things That Have Ever Happened To Me, This Is By Far the Most Recent

By Big D

Entry from the diary of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

_3 November, 1996_

_Harry's escape from Voldemort's dungeons has raised more questions than it has answered._

_Physically, it appears that he will make a full recovery, although many of his wounds have already scarred over, and he still has a great deal of weight to regain. I once again must express my admiration for Harry's sheer toughness. I've seen what Death Eater torturers are capable of, and the fact Harry is still in relatively good health after four months of their treatment is a incredible testament to his resilience._

_As to what that treatment entailed, I still have no idea, as Harry has not chosen to reveal those details at this time. Any inquiries into what took place after he disappeared from the hedge maze during the Third Task have been gently, but firmly rebuked. Attempts to scan his surface thoughts have been equally ineffective, though, with Alastor as his teacher, it's unsurprising that his occlumency would be so effective._

_However, I believe that I may venture a few assumptions, based on my own observations, as well as the few details that Harry has let slip. From the nature of the scarring on his chest and torso, I would guess that not all of Harry's wounds are the result of torture, as it appears that some of the tissue may have been removed, perhaps for use in potions, or for various magical experiments. Poppy also tells me that the bottom true rib on the right side of his body has been removed. There are a number of dark rituals in which such an artifact could be used, but without knowing more I am hesitant to venture a guess as to what use it is being put. Taking the pattern of healing into account, I would say that Harry was first experimented on, then after Tom's researchers had finished their work, the torturers took over and attempted to break him. As to what those researchers discovered, or indeed what they were looking for, I may never know, but I feel safe in thinking that it had something to do with understanding exactly how Harry survived the killing curse as a child. Most likely, they subjected him to a series of different traumas, and monitored his reactions in hopes of discovering a pattern. To my shame, I find that I have an almost unbearable curiosity as to what they discovered while performing these vile and painful experiments._

_I also find myself a great deal more concerned about Harry's mental state than his physical one. Although he seems to be holding up remarkably well after his ordeal, he has exhibited a quick and sometimes violent temper, and seems to be distancing himself from his friends, as well. This would suggest that he may be experiencing a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, as some sufferers often have difficulty relating to others after their experiences. Normally, the best treatment for such an affliction would be rapid reintegration back into the person's normal life, as well as strong support from the individual's family. But for Harry, normal life is anything but normal, and I have a feeling that returning to Privet Drive may only make the problem worse. Gaining an accurate assessment of Harry's mental health would be easier if I could convince him to open up to me, but that seems highly unlikely for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that Harry almost certainly suspects that I played a role in his abduction. The fact that he has not confronted me on the subject brings me no comfort, as I am sure that he intends to do so once the current crisis is over, and Tom has been defeated, once and for all._

_I can safely say that I have made no greater mistake in my long life than the one I made when I agreed to turn over Harry to Voldemort in exchange for his agreement to leave Hogwarts out of the war. However advantageous the final result has turned out to be, my betrayal of Harry has turned me into the worst kind of hypocrite, and I must live the rest of my life knowing that I have abandoned the principles which I have always held closest to my heart._

_Even so, it could be that my mistake may end up turning the war in our favor. Despite the fact that Harry has returned to us, the magical contract between Tom and myself is still in full effect, which means that he cannot act against the school in any way. And since I have already fulfilled my side of the bargain, there are no loopholes for him to wiggle through. This means that we now have an_ _impenetrable__ fortress from which to conduct our side of the war._

_But the most unforseen, and perhaps the most important benefit of Harry's incarceration has to do with Harry himself, and the amazing powers he has demonstrated since his return._

_In all the time that I have known him, and despite the assurances of the prophecy, Harry had never shown any extraordinary magical abilities. A gifted intellect and an iron will, certainly, but never anything to make me truly believe that he stood a chance against the Dark Lord of Magic. Indeed, it was this gnawing doubt that led me down the road to making a deal with Tom. But now I begin to understand what "the power the Dark Lord knows not" is._

_Harry has come into possession of a power that I would have believed to be impossible, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Lacking an established term to describe this phenomenon, I have taken to referring to it as metamagic. From what I have been able to discern, this metamagic allows him to not only sense, but to control magic in a way that no other wizard ever has before. Through the use of metamagic, Harry is able to transform one spell into another, or to change the parameters of an existing spell with only a thought. This talent seems to be limited to his immediate vicinity, roughly twenty feet in any direction from him. He also now has the ability to cast his own spells by simply releasing his own raw magic and using metamagic, to transform it into a more useable form, bypassing the need for a wand or incantation. Which is fortunate in light of the fact that his former wand was destroyed by Tom, and all attempts to fit him with a new one have been unsuccessful. In terms of sheer magical power, Harry still seems to be rather average, but with proper training, I now believe that he can be a match for even the most powerful wizards._

_Exactly how he obtained such a subtly powerful gift is a question that I may never be able to answer, and at this point, even venturing a guess would be foolhardy. But it is my sincerest hope that this new power will prove to be the downfall of my former pupil, Tom Marvolo Riddle... even if it may one day be my downfall, as well. My actions will have earned me nothing less._

_A.P.W.B.D._

(Two years later.)

The castle looked like something from a Boris Karloff movie, stone constructed, with tall towers and crumbling facades.

"What a fucking dump." Harry muttered.

"That's true enough," said Fred Weasley from his right.

"But since when have Death Eaters had taste?" chimed in George from his left.

Harry grinned at them before turning to Tonks, "How much time?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes."

Harry nodded and leaned back against the tree he was sitting by, closing his eyes. His choices for this mission had raised a few eyebrows. At first, he had been offered thirty fighters, a mixture of experienced Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members, but he had quickly shot that idea down. Thirty would have been too few to fight their way out if things went south, and too many to sneak in without being noticed. He had decided on a ten person team, but had only brought one auror, Tonks. The rest of the team was comprised of the most junior members of the Order, none of whom were more than a few years out of Hogwarts. For most of them, this would be their first true mission for the Order, other than providing support on a few small raids. Harry, however, knew the measure of each and everyone of them.

In Harry's first three years at Hogwarts, the school had come under full attack twice. Both times, the people he had chosen had stood their ground while others fled. Each time, they had continued fighting long after all hope of victory had seemed lost. Every one of them had lost family members in the war, and he counted each of them as people that he could trust with his back turned. If it came to fighting, he would regret not bringing more-experienced soldiers. Then again, if it came to fighting, they would have already failed.

Under any other circumstance, Harry would never consider what he was about to attempt. Snape had only been able to give them the most basic floor plans for the castle. He hadn't been able to tell them how many Death Eaters might be there, or how they were arranged. Taking a small, inexperienced team into an unknown situation, against unknown enemies, was only slightly better than suicide, but Harry didn't feel that he had a choice.

Ten hours earlier, Death Eaters had attacked the school at Hogsmeade. They had slaughtered the teachers, as well as the light guard, before abducting all forty children, who had ranged in age from six to ten. This had shocked even Harry. Of the forty children, thirty-six of them were pureblooded, and more than half of those belonged to families who had stayed neutral in the war, but were sympathetic to Voldemort. If Voldemort was prepared to turn those families against him, then he must think that whatever he had planed was enough to turn the tide of the war in his favor. And, as much as Harry hated to admit it, preventing that was just as important as returning those children safely to their parents.

The Order and the Ministry had both begun searching for the children at once. Two hours ago, Snape had brought word that they were being held here, and that they were to be sacrificed in some type of dark ritual at midnight tonight, about two hours from now. Using a young, virginal magical child as a blood sacrifice was not unheard of, but no one, not even Snape, could figure out what kind of ritual would require forty of them. The type of power that that would unleash would be all but impossible to control, even for Voldemort.

"How much time?" Harry asked again.

"Five minutes." came the reply from Tonks.

The plan that they had come up with was simple, but risky. Albus would lead the combined forces of the Order and the Ministry in an attack on Azkaban, which the Death Eaters had been using as a stronghold for several years now. In theory, this would draw the available Death Eater reenforcements to the north, which, in theory, would leave the children lightly defended. Harry wasn't a big fan of theories, he preferred facts.

Harry's team had the job of slipping into the castle while the Death Eaters were busy and freeing the children. Each of them carried several portkeys, which meant that only one of them needed to get through. If the Death Eaters took the bait, then things should go very smoothly. If they didn't, things would become very bloody, very very quickly. Over the last six and a half years, Harry had lost a number of friends. Tonight, Harry suspected that he would lose a few more.

"Harry." Tonks whispered, "It's time."

Harry opened his eyes and stood up.

"Let's go."

Swift and silently as shadows, the group moved towards the tree line. Each of them kept an eye on Harry, and stopped when he raised his hand. He motioned them behind him, and turned back to the seemingly empty air in front of him.

He didn't even consider trying to bring down the perimeter wards. Aside from the fact that he wasn't powerful enough, bringing down the wards would let every witch and wizard in a half-mile radius know they were coming. Instead, he simply altered what the wards were looking for. He couldn't affect the whole area of the ward, only the part that came within his area of influence, but it was enough to make a hole for his team to safely move through. As the others passed by him, Harry could hear the twins singing softy.

"A-sneaking we will go... a-sneaking we will go... high-ho the merry-go... a-sneaking we will go."

"I'll high-ho your merry-go's if you two don't shut up!" Tonks snapped quietly.

"Promise?" Fred whispered eagerly. "We've never been high-hoed by a metamorph." George added.

Tonks was about to light into them again, but Harry beat her to it. "That's enough, boys." he said, "We're here to do a job, and it's not going to get done out here."

"We are doing our jobs." Fred replied defensively. "Comic relief." his twin explained. Nonetheless, they remained quiet.

"Disillusion yourselves and find an entrance." Harry ordered, "First one to the kiddies wins the prize... now go." The others cast their spells. "And no heroes. If you get into a fight you can't handle, use your portkey and get out of there."

His admonishment was falling on deaf ears, and he knew it. No one here was prepared to leave those kids to their fates. They would all fight to the last.

Harry moved towards a corner of the castle where Snape claimed there was a small service entrance. The shadows made his team all but invisible, but he could still sense the magic from their disillusionment. Some of them were using brooms to get to the upper parts of the building, while the others spread out over the grounds. In his heart, he expected a fierce fight, so he was caught by surprise when he found the door to be open.

He passed through the unguarded door, into the unguarded storage room, down the unguarded hall, and quickly found himself standing before the unguarded dungeon stairs. Too much of a good thing was always bad, but turning back wasn't an option. By the time he reached the unguarded dungeon antechamber, Harry was prepared to pay good galleons for someone to jump out and try to kill him. Even if the Death Eaters had fallen for the diversionary attack, there should still be at least a few sentries here. The fact that there weren't meant that, either the children weren't being kept here, or he was walking straight into a trap. He could feel something up ahead, a kind of magic he had never felt before in his life and, ignoring every instinct in his body, moved towards it.

Harry had been through a number of terrible experiences in his short life, and could safely say it had been a long time since he was truly scared, but at that moment, the hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up. The very air was thick with anticipation, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen. As he opened the door to the dungeon proper, he caught sight of the person he least wanted, but most expected, to see.

Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord of Magic was waiting, quite patiently and very much alone, in the middle of a large, seemingly empty, room. The only light was a blood-red luminance that seemed to be coming from the man himself. It lit up the area around him, but failed to reach the surrounding walls, leaving him bathed in a kind of hellish halo. Surrounding him at his feet was a runic circle that Harry didn't recognize, but thought might be some sort of protective magic. The strange magic that Harry had felt before was thick in the air, but he still couldn't identify it. His first instinct was to flee, with his abilities, he could apperate out of anywhere, even Hogwarts, but he was once again stayed by the thought that the kidnaped children might still be alive. All of this flew through his mind in the split second before the former Tom Marvolo Riddle spoke.

"Please Harry, come in." his voice was like a snake sliding across dry grass, "I went to a great deal of trouble to bring you here, and I promise that I have no intention of harming you."

Harry chuckled a bit. "What, running out of ideas?" he said, entering the room and allowing the door to close behind him. "Can't say I'm surprised, you've done so much to me, you must be getting tired of thinking up new ways to hurt me by now." Despite his banter, Harry was worried. Allowing Voldemort to set him up like this could only end badly.

"Something like that." the older wizard replied dryly, still with that knowing smile on his face. "I can say this, one way or another, our rivalry will end tonight." The Dark Lord tilted his head slightly and smirked. "But either way, I will not harm you."

"So it's the kinder, gentler Voldemort tonight, is it?"

The knowing smile turned into an annoyed look. "It is not in my nature to be kind or gentle. But it has become obvious to me that hurting you is an exercise in futility." His face became contemplative as he continued. "Tell me Harry, do you remember when I offered you a place at my side during your first year?" Harry didn't answer, so Voldemort continued. "I have never rescinded that offer. It is still open to you to take, but I must insist that you decide now."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And if I say no?"

Voldemort smiled, two bright white fangs glinting in the unnatural light. "Do not be so hasty to deny me. Whatever our differences, I have always admired your strength, as well as your unique gifts. When I say that there is a place for you at my side, I do not mean as a servant. It is as an equal... a partner if you will."

"Well, gee... I don't know... this is all so sudden." Harry mocked, placing a hand over his heart and pretending to go faint. "What will the papers say? And my parents?" He dropped the blushing bride routine and adopted an put-upon look. "Oh, yeah... you killed my parents." he said dryly. "The only partnership I have any interest of entering into with you has to do with the joining of my foot and your ass."

Voldemort's face became grim. "Nevertheless, there is only one way out of this room, and that is at my side."

There was a loud explosion, and the muffled sound of fighting from upstairs. "It would seem that your friends have been caught with their hands in the cookie jar." Voldemort said in an amused tone. "But they can be saved as well. All you have to do is say yes."

Harry had heard enough. It was time to get out of here. He gathered his magic, intending to apperate, but when he tried, nothing happened. It wasn't that he was being blocked, the spell simply didn't work. He raised a hand to let loose with a blast of lighting directed at Voldemort, but again, nothing happened. It was like magic itself didn't work in this room, but that was impossible because he could feel it all around him.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. "You look so confused, my boy. It's not quite fair when someone changes the rules on you, is it?" he sneered. The light around the dark wizard grew more intense and for the first time, Harry could see the entire chamber.

Bathed in red light, he could see the nude bodies of the missing children stuck spreadeagle fashion along the walls. Their hands and feet had been nailed to the stone, and their flesh had been inscribed with runes that bled dark red blood. It took him a moment to realize that they were screaming, and therefore still alive.

Desperate now, Harry tried to attack Voldemort physically, but as he moved toward the Dark Lord, the air around him thickened to hold him in place. Voldemort spread his arms out, and the red light turned into an inferno, blinding Harry. Over the din of anguished children and dark magic, he could hear Voldemort's voice.

"TO BE TRUTHFUL, I'M PLEASED YOU REFUSED ME." he bellowed triumphantly, "I'D HATE TO THINK THAT I WENT TO ALL THIS TROUBLE AND DIDN'T GET TO BANISH YOU INTO LIMBO LIKE I PLANNED!

His eyes took on a look of pure hate. THINK OF ME, HARRY POTTER, WHILE YOU SPEND AN UNDYING ETERNITY LOST BEYOND TIME... THINK OF ME AS THE EONS PASS YOU BY, AND YOU GO INSANE BY INCHES... KNOW THAT MY FACE IS THE LAST THING YOU WILL EVER SEE, AS YOU SPEND THE REST OF YOUR UNENDING LIFE IN THE NOTHINGNESS OF INFINITY... AND KNOW THAT YOU COULD HAVE PREVENTED IT BY SIMPLY TAKING MY HAND!

Desperately, Harry clawed at the awesomely powerful magic swirling around him. The force of the magic that Voldemort was channeling was almost beyond comprehension, the scope of it was tearing at his mind and blinding his senses. But it was too powerful. He could feel cold seeping into his limbs, the intense cold of the empty dark. And, true to his word, Voldemort's face was the last thing he saw before he was ripped away from his own world.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. No shit.

Chapter Two: Haven't We Met Before?

By Big D

On another world, in another time, the boundaries between the dimensions bent, then broke, allowing something that should never have existed in that place to take its first breath of air there.

On this world, there were only two humans capable of sensing that breach. One, his mind consumed with a war he was slowly and inexorably losing, passed the slight tremor off as a side effect of the massive stress he was under.

The other, half a world away, but always searching for potential threats to his dark plans, sat up and took notice.

* * *

_The chamber door slamming open was an unwelcome wake-up call._

_Harry looked up from his place in the middle of the room. His unwashed hair had grown long and matted and fell into his eyes, but the blob of platinum-blond was unmistakable. The chains holding him to the ceiling were digging into his wrists painfully, but Harry refused to give Lucius Malfoy the pleasure of seeing him stand upon his entrance._

_The cell he was in was a simple eight by ten stone room, with a not-so-simple purpose. The walls were perfectly smooth and seamless, with the exception of the latticework of complicated runes etched lightly into them. The symbols somehow turned the room into a zone of null-magic, where even Voldemort would be no better than a squib. Unsurprisingly, the Dark Lord himself avoided the room like the plague. That didn't, however, stop him from sending his flunkies in to make Harry bleed whenever it amused him. The one advantage, if you could call it that, was that they were unable to use magic to do it._

_All things considered, Harry was happy to see the elder Malfoy. Lucius, for all his supposed intelligence, was a poor pain-giver. Brutal and unforgiving, but also unimaginative and easily rattled._

_Each of his usual torturers had their own style. Avery was excitable and eager to please his master, he felt that, if he hurt Harry badly enough, then he might be able to make up for denouncing the Dark Lord after he fell. Macnair was a professional, businesslike at all times. His method was to get in, get a few screams, and get out. His visits were probably the most painful, but also the shortest in duration. Bellatrix got off on it, always with a knife in one hand, and the other wiggling around inside her panties. With her, the sessions lasted a long time, but the damage was somewhat minimal... the physical damage, at least. She usually kept a memento of their time together when she was done, either some of his blood, or a lock of his hair._

_The only one that really scared him was the one for whom he had no name. Voldemort's lead researcher was a short, chubby man with beady, bird-like eyes who didn't look like he could hurt a fly. He never spoke, and rarely even looked at Harry. His purpose wasn't to torture Harry, but to study him. His visits generally lasted for hours, and often left Harry feeling ashamed of how desperately he had begged the man to stop. But no matter how much he begged, or how angrily he cursed, the man took no notice. He didn't see Harry as a person, only as a subject to be analyzed. In his own mind, Harry had taken to calling the man Mengele._

_A hand grabbing his hair and jerking him to his feet brought Harry back to the here and now. Lucius' face filled his vision as the taller man looked down his nose at him._

_"Yet again, I find myself forced to enter this disgusting place." Malfoy spat, his eyes narrow and angry, "And why?" he asked rhetorically, bringing his face closer to Harry's so that they were nose to nose. "Because you refuse to see reason!" He released his grip on Harry's scalp and stepped back, straightening his robes and trying to regain his composure. A little calmer now, he moved behind Harry and whispered into his ear. "What are you waiting for, boy?" he hissed, "Rescue? That will not happen! The rest of the world believes that you are dead!" He paused, and seemed to be contemplating Harry's motives. "Perhaps you think that if you resist long enough, the Dark Lord will get bored and have you killed?" He leaned in even closer, and growled. "Dismiss the thought from your mind. You are here until you submit, or you die of old age. Use what meager intelligence you possess and make the correct decision, for both our sakes."_

_Harry leaned his head back, and smiled. His bone-dry and abused lips cracked open, and a tiny bit of blood oozed from the cracks. "But you don't understand." he rasped, the infection in his lungs giving his voice the sound of a death rattle. "This is the best summer vacation I've had in years. This room is much larger than the one I grew up in, and," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "just between you and me, the company here isn't much worse than what I get at home."_

_Malfoy's response was to slam his fist into the back of Harry's head as hard as he could. Bright lights flashed in Harry's eyes at the contact, and he felt what little he had in his stomach come back up and splatter onto the floor, as well as parts of his nude body. His knees buckled and the chains in the ceiling were all that kept him from going down like a sack of potatoes, the shackles digging deeper into the cuts on his wrists as they stopped his momentum._

_"Have it your way, then!" Malfoy snarled, reaching into his robes and producing a leather object. There was a slight tinkling noise as he uncoiled the cat o' nine tails, the metal tips of the lashes clattering on the stone floor. "I hope you enjoy this as much as I will."_

_The first blow hit Harry's back like a shotgun blast, and he didn't even bother trying to hold back his screams. His body jerked in his bonds, and he could hear a voice in the distance._

"comeonladtimetowakeup."

_Again the lashes pounded him, the metal tips cutting his skin open as easily as a scalpel._

"thataboy... youcandoit."

_He tried to pull himself to his feet, but the third blow sent him back down. Tears started to form in his eyes, and the world became very bright._

"Alright now, you're almost there."

The nightmare faded as Harry slowly regained consciousness. In the distance, he could hear someone move away from him. His muscles screamed as he pulled himself up tenderly from his place on the muggle hospital bed. He could tell it was a muggle hospital from the smell, magical hospitals tended to smell more like kitchens, due to all the herbs in use. It felt like every soft tissue he owned was bruised.

"The little liar said that it wouldn't hurt." he muttered irritably.

"Oi there, boy!" an exasperated female voice came from Harry's left, "You'd best be laying back down so the doctor can have a look at you!"

Harry looked over at the flummoxed nurse. She was a rather severe-looking heavyset woman with thick black glasses. "That won't be necessary, love." he sighed, "If you would be so kind, could you bring me my personal effects so I can be out of your hair?" he asked as politely as he was capable of, what with his head trying to burst out of his skull.

He needed to find out what had happened to his team. With any luck, they had followed orders for once and portkeyed out when they were ambushed. He also needed to confer with Albus to try and find out exactly what Voldemort had tried to do to him. The dark wizard had said something about banishing him into limbo but, unless limbo was really a muggle trauma ward, it hadn't worked. Either that, or the spell didn't have anything to do with sending him into limbo, and Voldemort had only said that to throw Harry off the real trail. The idea of spending time alone in a room with the Headmaster of Hogwarts was enough to make his skin crawl, but the old man really was the preeminent authority on all types of rare magic.

"Listen to me, young man!" the nurse said, "You've just spent the last week in a coma, so if you think you're going to..." She trailed off as Harry whipped his head towards her and sprang to his feet. It was remarkable how quickly the words "week-long coma" had managed to clear his head. The idea that he had been laying here, totally unprotected, for a week, was a sobering thought.

"Where am I?" he demanded, "How did I get here?"

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she put her hands on her ample hips. "Don't take that tone with me, little boy!" the angry nurse growled, "I've put bigger lads than you over my knee and taught them respect!" She stared him down for a moment, then when she was sure he had gotten the message, she explained. "You're at Saint Thomas's Hospital. Sergeant Metcalf said that the boys found you half-drowned in the river, and he brought you to us. Had I known you'd be so ungrateful, I'd have asked them to toss you right back in! Now you wait here while I fetch the doctor." She left the room, giving him a look and a sniff as she exited.

Harry was taken aback. How in the hell had he gotten to Westminster! The castle they had been attacking was all the way over in the Cambrain Mountains. Something just wasn't adding up here. He'd been missing for a week, and no one had thought to call the hospitals for someone matching his description? Unlikely. And St. Thomas's was one of the oldest hospitals in the world, surely Hermione or Dumbledore would think to check there once they figured out that he wasn't in Wales anymore. He needed more information.

A quick search of the room didn't turn up any of his things, but since he hadn't had anything other than his black robes with him at the time, he wasn't too concerned about leaving them behind. He quickly transfigured his hospital gown into suitable muggle clothing, cast a notice-me-not charm on himself and, only a few minutes later, found himself standing outside on Lambeth Palace Road, with the River Thames sparkling just beyond the stream of automobile and pedestrian traffic.

A hot gust of wind hit him in the face when he stepped out onto the street, catching him off guard. He had transfigured long slacks and a jumper, perfectly appropriate attire for early autumn in London, but not for the thirty-five degree (Celsius) weather he encountered outside.

Harry was struck by the sheer wrongness of the situation. London was almost never this hot, even in summer. The idea that it could be this hot in mid-November was preposterous. There was also something odd about the crowd outside the hospital. Not anything that Harry could put a finger on, but odd nonetheless.

His notice-me-not spell was still working, so he transfigured his clothing in to a tee-shirt and shorts, then cancelled it. He crossed the street and made his way to the Westminster Bridge. After crossing the bridge, he entered Westminster Station, looking for a newsstand. If there had been a sudden heat wave, then surely it would be in the newspapers. He conjured a fifty pence coin, tossed it at the man behind the counter, and grabbed a copy of the Times. Harry started to walk away, but the man called out to him.

"Oi there lad, don't you want your change?" the newskeep asked.

Harry stopped in his tracks, and turned around slowly. The last time he checked, the Times did cost 50p, and if they had changed the price, it certainly wouldn't have gone down. The newskeep was holding his hand out for Harry to collect his change, but the Boy-Who-Lived stared right through him. Somewhere in his mind there was an almost audible click. He now knew why the crowd on the street had struck him as strange. It was the slightly large cut of the men's coats. The abundance of older cars on the road. The not-quite-modern haircuts the ladies wore, among other things.

An ugly feeling was brewing in his gut, a feeling that would explain all of the oddities he had experienced since he had awakened from his coma. The unnatural heat. The odd crowd. The fact that the Order hadn't come looking for him. All he had to do to confirm his suspicions was to look at the date on the newspaper in his hand, but his arm refused to move.

Taking a deep breath, Harry did the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

* * *

Sometime later, Harry found himself sitting on a park bench overlooking the river. On the bench next to him was a newspaper with the current date on it: 4 June, 1976. He had been sitting there for some time now, staring at the water. The sun had already passed overhead, and was now falling into the western horizon, bathing the city in orange light. Harry had always prided himself on his ability to take things in stride, to adapt and overcome anything life threw at him. But this was a little much, even for him.

"Excuse me, son" a small, weak voice spoke to him.

Harry looked up and saw an old lady looking at him. Old wasn't the right word, but it was the best he could come up with. She was older than old, older-looking even than Griselda Marchbanks, with a hunch in her back that bent her almost double, and innumerable wrinkles on skin that looked like it could be torn by a stiff wind.

"Do you mind?" she creaked out.

For a moment, Harry thought she was admonishing him for staring at her, but realized that she wanted to know if she could sit down. Hurriedly, he moved his paper off of the seat, and she eased herself onto the bench next to him.

She reached out and patted his knee. "Thank you, my boy." she said, closing her eyes and resting. "At my age, I'm always looking for a place to sit." She opened her eyes and looked at him, smiling. Her gums were bare. "It's nice to see a young person like yourself taking the time to sit and enjoy a day like this."

Harry smiled back at her, then rested his head against the back of the bench. "I'm not enjoying the day, so much as wondering now I got here." he chuckled.

She looked at him suspiciously. "You're not one of those silly philosophy students, are you?"

Harry laughed again, "No ma'am." he said, "My concerns are more... practical."

She grunted. "Good. I can't stand a person who thinks that they can find the answers to all of life's questions by looking in some book, written by some foreigner who was probably making it up as they went along." She contemplated him for a moment. "You say that you're concerns are practical, does that mean that you're lost?"

Harry thought about it. "Kind of." he replied. "I do know where I am, but I'm not totally sure how I got here, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now."

She barked a laugh. It was the loudest sound she had made so far. "Well that's easy." she wheezed, "You keep moving forward, don't you? After all, you can't sit here forever." She leaned in close. "That's my secret, you know. Even though I'm always looking for a place to sit, it's only long enough for me to rest so I can keep moving." She demonstrated this by standing up. "It's been lovely talking to you, young man." she said kindly, "And I do hope that you find what you're looking for." She shuffled off down the street.

The old lady had a point. Nothing would be served by sitting here sulking. In fact, this entire situation might be turned to his advantage, if he played it right. In his own time frame, Harry could match Voldemort to a point, but couldn't beat him. If he lived from now, to the point in which he was sent back in time, that would give him more than twenty years to figure out a way to stop the Dark Lord for good. Surely he could think of something, given that much time.

There was something else, another advantage. For the first time in years, for the first time he could remember, no one was hunting him, no one was trying to kill him. Fate had just handed him a twenty-year vacation from his hellish life. Needless to say, some of that time would have to be spent on Voldemort-related research, but he would have a chance to travel, maybe even go to University like a real person... a normal person.

Harry had never bemoaned his lack of a normal life. After all, it wouldn't change anything, and thinking about it would make him miserable. But now that such a life was within his grasp, nothing seemed more attractive. He could have a girlfriend without worrying if someone was going to try to kill her to get to him. He could walk down the street, even Diagon Alley, without getting mobbed. For the first time in his life, the whole world was open to him. The only thing he had to do was avoid getting involved with his own history, at all costs. The temptation to visit his parents, or to warn the Order about Voldemort's upcoming attacks, was incredibly strong, but to do so meant risking the entire timeline. It was best if he left the country, just to be safe. Even the slightest change in history could have vast repercussions, for the people he cared about as much as himself.

Harry took the newspaper, and tore it into a number of generally pound-shaped pieces. He then transfigured the paper into a stack of clean, new twenty-pound notes. No wizard would be fooled by transfigured money, but for a muggle the only way to tell that they weren't real would be to check the serial numbers. So long as he didn't throw too much of it around, he shouldn't have any problems.

Mentally, Harry began making a to-do list. He would get a hotel tonight, then start searching for a room he could rent during the summer. He needed to leave the country, but first he should take a couple of months off to get himself acclimated to his new situation. He needed to find a copy of the Daily Prophet, so he would know where Voldemort was, and be able to avoid him. He also needed to find out exactly what the future Voldemort had done in order to send him here, and this time he wouldn't have Dumbledore to help him. There were other resources he could use though, including one right here in London that might be able to shed some light on the problem, if he dug in the right places. If not, there was one place he thought that he could find answers, but he would only go there as a last resort.

He now had a plan, and he was moving forward.

* * *

Three days later, Harry found himself standing in the attic of a large, well-appointed house in Bloomsbury, a few blocks away form the University of London. The attic had been converted into a small apartment, and Harry had come to inquire about renting it for the summer. The location of the house, between the University and the West End, was perfect for his purposes, and the apartment itself was surprisingly well-furnished and homey. He mentioned that to Charles, the owner of the house..

"When we decided to rent it out, my wife was determined to make it as comfortable as possible." Charles told him. "Most of the furniture is from her side of the family, they just didn't have anywhere to put it."

"She did an excellent job." Harry told him truthfully.

Indeed, even if the place wasn't so well suited to his needs, Harry would've had a hard time turning it down. The attic was on the third level of the house, with hardwood floors and large windows at either end, which would allow cool air to flow through the room, even in the heart of summer. It was tastefully furnished, with a queen-sized bed, and a comfy sofa situated near one of the windows. Harry thought he would be quite comfortable here, he just needed to hammer out the details with Charles.

Charles himself was a kind-eyed man in his late forties. He was slender, and of average height, with a full head of red hair that was just beginning to show some grey. He had an calm air of intelligence about him, and appeared to be a former athlete. Harry liked him almost from the moment they met.

"Well, I'm sold." Harry declared.

Charles clapped his hands together. "Excellent." he said, seeming pleased, "Why don't we go downstairs for a cuppa while we talk about it?" They moved down to the kitchen, and began to talk.

"So, where are you from?" Charles asked, pouring the tea.

In Harry's opinion, the best lies were always founded in truth. In fact, if he was careful, he could usually twist the facts to fit whatever situation he needed, and avoid lying altogether.

"I was born in Wales, but I grew up in Surrey and went to school in Scotland." Harry told him. "My parents died when I was a baby, so my aunt and uncle took me in." He paused a moment for effect. "We didn't always get along... that's one of the reasons I moved out." All true, but not in quite the way he made it seem. With luck, Charles would take that as a hint not to ask about Harry's personal life. The fewer questions he was asked, the less chance he had of being caught in a lie.

Charles nodded. "Sometimes it's difficult, being part of a family." he said somberly, "But you can't give up on them. Who knows, they may surprise you someday."

He wasn't quite taking the hint, so Harry threw him a curve. "Maybe." he said sadly, "But I don't think that they ever forgave me for not dying along with my mum and dad."

The older man blinked, a little unnerved at the sudden turn of the conversation. He decided to change the subject, which was just what Harry wanted.

"You say that you're only looking to stay for the summer. If you don't mind me asking, what happens after that?" he asked.

Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure yet. A lot of it depends on what happens with my research at the University." He smiled at the man. "But I do expect to be moving along around September, so you'll only have to put up with me for a couple of months."

Charles seemed pleasantly surprised. "You're doing research at the University? I teach literature there. Can I ask what you're investigating?"

Harry bit back a groan. He had planned to say that he was doing research for a book he was planning to write. It was the kind of useless, and rarely finished, project that young men often undertook after graduating from school, and shouldn't draw any attention. But an English professor would be all too interested in something like that. Again, he would have to improvise.

"I'm trying to find out if it's possible to artificially create a rupture in space-time." he replied, doing his best to channel Commander Data from Star Trek.

Harry wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He had never said something so ridiculous-sounding in his entire life, even if it was partially true. He quickly considered casting a memory charm on Charles, and trying again, when they were distracted by the sound of the front door crashing open.

"I HATE YOU! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE LIKE THAT!"

"ME! IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU'RE A FREAK!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH, GIRLS! I DON'T WANT TO HERE ANYMORE ABOUT THIS!"

(Simultaneously, in disbelieving voices.) "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" "YOU'RE JUST GOING TO LET HER GET AWAY WITH THAT?"

Harry and Charles rose from their seats and locked eyes.

"My wife and daughters." Charles explained, a little sheepishly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are they armed?" he asked, only half-jokingly.

Charles rolled his eyes. "Thank god, no." he sighed, "But if the I.R.A. ever gets a hold of them, we're all doomed." Again, only half-jokingly.

The three fighting females found their way into the kitchen. The mother was a petite, but handsome woman about ten years younger than Charles. She had shoulder-length, dark brown hair framing a pretty, but slightly pinched face. The first daughter was quite tall, about five foot ten, and slender, with hair like her mother's, but straighter, and grown all the way down her back. She had a long, lean body with gentle, but noticeable curves, and pure white skin. The other girl was almost a foot shorter than her sister, with high, firm breasts, and a pleasing assortment of full curves to go along with them. She had a cascade of dark red hair that flowed down past her shoulders, and a clean, smooth face that was actually enhanced by the light dusting of freckles along her cheeks and nose. If Harry didn't know that they were related, he never would've guessed that the two girls were sisters. They were almost mirror opposites, apart from both of them being quite attractive.

The redheaded sister broke from the pack and made a beeline to Charles, burying her face into his chest and sobbing in frustration. Harry had a feeling that Charles wanted to stay out of this, and allow his wife to handle the argument, but this unfair attack on a father's greatest weakness had changed his plan. He wrapped his arms around his sobbing little girl, and whispered comfortingly to her.

"Shush, princess." he said, rubbing her back, "It's okay. Tell me what happened."

Harry suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. This was a private family moment, and those tended to make him nervous, due to the fact that he never really knew how to react to them. Dealing with Death Eaters was much easier. He also felt a little invisible. Charles seemed to have forgotten about him, and he was sure that the two girls hadn't noticed him yet, although the mother had cast a curious eye at him a moment ago.

The girl let go of Charles, and glared venomously at her sister. "That... that... jealous little... BINT, did nothing but make snide remarks while we were out." she hissed, "And, if that weren't bad enough, we ran into some of my old friends from primary school, and when they asked what happened to me, she told them that I'd been sent to some school for bloody delinquents!" She latched onto her father again. "It was so embarrassing, daddy!" she wept into his shirt. Harry had the feeling that she was hamming it up a bit for his benefit, but Charles didn't seem to notice.

"Honey," he said to his other daughter, "why would you do something like that?"

The taller one looked at her father disbelievingly. "Why do you always take her side?" she whined, now near tears herself. "Besides, what was I supposed to do, tell them the truth? That she's a..."

"Girls!" the mother said sharply. "We have a guest." She nodded at Harry.

The other three members of her family flinched. Charles looked like he had seen a ghost, and the girls stared at Harry with their mouths open in shock. For his part, Harry didn't notice any of it. The ugly feeling from the train station a few days ago had come back a hundred-fold. This entire situation was too familiar to be a coincidence. His eyes were closed, and he was fighting to keep his breakfast from coming up. His stomach settled down a little, and he opened his eyes. But instead of looking at the other people in the room, he focused on a banana-shaped refrigerator magnet that fell into his line of sight.

'This can not be happening.' he thought to himself angrily, 'It's im-fucking-possible, not even my luck is that bad!' He had a powerful urge to turn on his heal, and run screaming into the night.

Charles pulled him out his dark thoughts. The older man had recovered from his shock, but was still on edge. "I'm so sorry about that, Harry." he said, "I promise this isn't something that happens every day."

"You ain't just whistling dixie, brother." Harry muttered, too low for the others to hear.

Charles took his arm, and pulled him forward. "I want you all to meet Harry Potter." he said to his family, "He's going to be renting out the attic for the summer." He turned to Harry. "Harry, I'd like you to meet my wife, Iris." Harry shook her hand numbly. "And our daughters, Lily and Petunia." Lily gave him a bright smile, showing perfect white teeth. Petunia seemed a little more shy, but also bestowed a greeting smile on him.

He may have smiled back, he wasn't sure. Still not wanting to meet the eyes of anyone in the room, he let his vision drift. Just over the doorway that led into the kitchen, there was a carved wooden sign with five words on it. Five words that confirmed Harry's belief that God really was a mean kid with a magnifying glass, and that he was the ant...

Welcome to the Evans' household.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. No shit.

Chapter Three: And Now For Something Completely Different.

By Big D

259,200 seconds.

4,320 minutes.

72 hours.

Three days. His solemn and unwavering promise not to interfere with his own history had lasted a grand total of three days.

Not twenty years, like he intended, but three days.

How fucking pathetic is that?

Harry was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had an endless supply of questions, but the shadows between the wooden beams weren't offering any answers.

He should've left, he knew that. Should've walked straight out the door, without a word, the second he realized that he had somehow stumbled into his grandfather's house.

But he didn't.

He could still leave. Nothing had happened so far that would give him away. He could walk out the front door, and never look back. Charles would be confused. He would check the house to see if Harry had taken anything of value, but when he discovered that nothing was missing, he would shrug and write it off as one of those weird things that sometimes happen when you invite strangers into your home.

But he wasn't going anywhere.

It was one thing to make bold declarations about how he would avoid his family at all costs when they were far away, it was quite a different thing to follow through on that promise when they were close enough to touch. That wasn't the only reason he had stayed, but even if there hadn't been any others, he still would have.

Harry didn't believe in coincidence, or even in luck, really. He often bemoaned his own bad luck, but in his heart he knew that bad things didn't just happen, they were either a consequence of your own actions, or caused by someone else in order to do you harm. Chance played a part at times, but the odds of pure chance leading him to this particular house, at this particular time, were so infinitesimal as to be laughable.

In short, it was a small world, but not that small.

In fact, this entire situation reeked of a setup. Not only his being here, in his dead family's home, more than two decades in the past, but everything that had happened to him in the last few days, starting with the trap laid by Voldemort. He felt like he was holding onto a very slow portkey, like he was being pulled down a path he had no control over. But who was doing the pulling?

The obvious answer was Voldemort himself, but somehow that didn't seem right. Harry knew Voldemort, understood him to a degree, and this didn't feel like something he would do. Of course, the Dark Lord had managed to catch him off guard with the magic he had used to send him here, but that was more a matter of him having a deeper understanding of magic than Harry did, and taking advantage of it. He just couldn't see any real advantage in this for Voldemort, and Voldemort never did anything unless it was to his advantage.

After that, the list of suspects became rather short and unlikely. Dumbledore might be able to pull off something like this, but to what point? The old man had betrayed him once before, but Harry didn't think that he had the stomach to do so again.

Then, of course, there was the most likely explanation. It was entirely possible that years of mental and physical abuse had finally cracked Harry's mind like an egg, and that he was really lying in a hospital bed somewhere, gibbering like a mongoloid idiot, and that everything he had experienced in the last ten days was just a complicated illusion created by his now-shattered sanity.

But, even if that were true, there really wasn't anything that he could do about it. His best course was to play this straight, and see what happened.

So, assuming that there really was some unseen person or force guiding his path, what could he do about it? Not much, unless he could find out what they were really after. And for now, the best way to do that was to stay where he was.

Which brought him back to the Evans'. His family. Family wasn't a word he used easily, even in the safety of his own mind. To Harry, it was the most foreign of words, having no real personal connection for him. Friends he could deal with. Lovers he had no problem with. But when people started tossing out the f-word, he usually left the room.

Still, being here, in this house, with these people, had affected him in a way few things in his life ever had. It was odd, but he felt an almost instinctual bond with them, one that he had noticed with Charles even before he knew that the man was his grandfather. But even with them, there were questions. Most of them, not surprisingly, involved his now fifteen-year-old mother, Lily and her seventeen-year-old sister, Petunia.

After the awkward round of introductions, during which Petunia had almost revealed Lily's magical nature, and Harry had almost fainted from shock, Iris had invited him to have lunch with the family, so they could get to know each other better. Still a bit dazed, Harry had agreed.

* * *

_Harry sat at the table watching his grandmother make soup and sandwiches. The surreal nature of that very simple action was almost overwhelming. Lily was sitting next to him, holding her father's arm and telling him about their day out. He looked over at his mother, which wasn't a very hard thing to do. Not only was she very pretty, but she also had a way about her that tended to draw eyes. She was very expressive, moving her hands as she spoke and punctuating each comment with a laugh, or a flash of her green eyes. He noticed that, every once in a while, those eyes would dart in his direction and linger for a moment, but she hadn't really said anything to him yet._

_Charles was clearly enraptured with her. He hung on his youngest daughter's every word, seemingly to the exclusion of everyone else in the room as she explained how Iris had celebrated the end of the school year with them by taking her and Petunia shopping. It was the mentioning of Petunia's name that caused Harry to turn and look at the other Evans girl._

_He had to look very closely to see the woman she would become in the girl she was now. The Petunia Dursley he knew was a bony, hateful wretch of a woman, who did everything in her power to ensure that those around her would notice her. She thrived on the attention and approval of others, and often went to great lengths to attain it, her favorite method being to run someone else down, so that she would seem better by comparison. Years of eating only whatever her husband and son had left behind, as well as at least one botched facelift, had left her looking more like a skeleton in a house dress than the still relatively young woman she was._

_Petunia Evans, he quickly realized, was a different animal altogether. Well-fed, and in the bloom of youth, she was attractive, but not drop-dead gorgeous. She had inherited her mother's pinched face, but it wasn't totally out of place on her long frame._

_Harry caught himself sneaking a peek at that frame before he remembered who it was attached to. She was wearing blue jeans and a simple, short-sleeved blouse, but it was so far from what he was used to from his aunt that it was jarring. Petunia Dursley wouldn't be caught dead in jeans. Harry couldn't help but think that she would have if she had kept the kind of figure her younger self now had. Petunia Evans possessed the long legs, and firm, round hips of a runway model and, relatively small, but noticeable breasts. That actually surprised him somewhat. He had washed the Dursley's laundry more times than he could count, and he had never once found one of Petunia's bras in with it. He had always assumed that she never had anything to support._

_But the biggest difference between this girl, and the woman she would become, was the way she seemed to deflect attention from herself. Petunia was sitting at the table with her head bowed slightly, and her elbows pulled in toward her ribs. She was leaning forward at the waist, and her shoulders were hunched, making her appear shorter than she really was. Her entire body posture screamed- 'Don't look at me!' The way she held herself made her seem less like an almost six-foot-tall beauty, and more like a little girl sitting in a corner, who's hoping that no one decides to pick on her._

_In fact, Petunia's body language reminded Harry of his own in the years before he went to Hogwarts. He had often sat at the Dursley's table in that same manner, just trying to avoid notice until he was sent back to his cupboard. But why would Petunia be acting like that? From what he could tell, Charles and Iris were perfectly lovely parents, so it wasn't as if she was being put through the same kind of nightmarish childhood he had been._

_Petunia might not have wanted any attention, but she clearly knew that Harry was looking at her. She shifted in her seat so that her head was tilted towards him, and gave him a small, interested smile._

_Harry blinked in surprise. Apparently, Petunia had taken his curious inspection of her as flirting, and was now trying to reciprocate, albeit a bit clumsily. Still holding his eye, she brushed her toe against his leg._

_Harry went absolutely still. Nothing in his short, but very full life had prepared him for something quite like this. If he had to make a list of the things least likely to ever happen to him, Petunia Dursley playing footsie with him underneath his grandfather's dinner table would be number one with a bullet. But, he reminded himself, this wasn't Petunia Dursley, it was Petunia Evans. And she had no idea who he was._

_At least she had that excuse. There was no excuse for the slight lump that started to form in Harry's lap at the feel of her foot touching his leg. He had never had a more uncomfortable erection in his life._

_Petunia's foot crept up little higher. Her cheeks had grown red, and were getting darker by the second. She tried to casually reach for the glass of water on the table in front of her, but somehow managed to drop it on herself as she went to take a sip. The glass crashed down on the table, water splashing all over her, soaking her lap and part of her top. She looked up at him, horrified, before turning and running up to her room._

_Iris rushed over to the stairwell. "Pet?" she called up the stairs, "Are you okay, Pet?" She looked back into the kitchen. "I'm going to go check on her. Lily, can you clean that up?"_

_Lily had a slightly petulant look on her face. "Why do I have to clean up her mess?" she asked, "Make her come back down and do it."_

_"I'll do it." Harry offered before Iris could respond. She gave him a grateful look and went up the stairs. His chubby had thankfully deflated, so he got up and made for the paper towels._

_Lily, however, beat him over there. "I've got it." she smiled, laying a soft hand on his arm, "You're a guest, you shouldn't be cleaning up after us."_

_"I'm not a guest, I'm a tenant." he reminded her._

_"Well if you're paying to be here, you really shouldn't have to clean up after us." she said wryly. She shooed him back to his seat and quickly had the spill cleaned up._

_Harry turned to his grandfather. "Is it always this exciting here?"_

_"Only during the summer, thankfully." he responded, "The rest of the year the girls are at school."_

_"What school do they go to?" Harry asked, knowing the answer, or at least half of it._

_"They don't go to the same school." Charles told him, "Petunia goes to school in Birmingham, where her mother studied, but she just graduated." He gave Lily a proud smile. "Our Lily goes to a school for the gifted, up north." Lily blushed and grinned at her father._

_Just then, Iris came back into the room. She went back to the stove and stirred the soup without a word._

_"Is Petunia alright?" Charles asked._

_Iris made an annoyed noise and took the pot off the flame. She leaned against the counter and pinched the bridge of her nose, like she was fighting down a headache._

_"She said that something... unnatural made her drop the glass." Iris said tiredly, glancing at Harry as she spoke._

_Lily became indignant. "Why that rotten little liar." she hissed, "She just doesn't want to admit that she's clumsy."_

_"That's enough, Lily." her mother snapped, "I don't want to hear anymore about this."_

_The rest of the meal passed in relative silence. Iris took a plate up to Petunia, who refused to return to the table. Harry found himself to be rather hungry, after all the day's shocks, and Iris was happy to provide him with seconds. He was on his third ham sandwich, when a troubling thought occurred to him._

_When he had been introduced to Lily as "Harry Potter", she hadn't even batted an eye. There were enough Potters in the world that she might not think much of him having the same last name as one of her classmates, but he also was the spitting image of his father. A little shorter and skinnier, with longer hair maybe, but almost identical in the face. He looked at Lily out of the corner of his eye. She and his father wouldn't get together for another couple of years, but they had been housemates for almost five years at this point. It was possible that, with all that had happened today, she simply hadn't noticed any similarities between himself and James, but it was something he thought he should check out. It was times like these that he wished he were a more capable legilimens. Moody had spent years trying to hammer that discipline into his head, to no avail. He understood the theory, but was terrible at the practical parts._

_Somewhat disquieted by his thoughts, Harry excused himself from the table. On his way upstairs, he passed a clock that showed the time to be a little after one in the afternoon. He shook his head wryly. 'Funny how much your life can change in just a few hours.' he thought._

_Harry walked down the upstairs hall, towards his room. The last door on the left before the attic stair was shut tight, but as he passed it, he heard a loud, anguished sob. 'Petunia.' he thought, stopping and staring at the door. He knew that Lily hadn't magicked the glass out of Petunia's hand, but he also knew that her dropping it hadn't simply been a matter of her being clumsy. She must be horrified at the thought that she had come on to him, only to make a fool of herself. He had a surprising amount of sympathy for her, given their past (or future, as the case may be) and considered knocking on the door, but decided against it. Nothing good would come of him talking to her. Better for her to believe that she had embarrassed herself, and that he wasn't interested in her._

_As he turned to enter his room, the door swept open, and he was suddenly face to face with Petunia, her eyes bloodshot and damp. She opened her mouth to speak, then caught sight of him. Her jaw went slack and her face turned a shade of dark crimson._

_"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." Harry said, "I'll just be going."_

_Petunia lunged out and grabbed his arm, yanking him into her room and shutting the door behind them. She leaned against the door and panted a bit, looking a little shocked at how bold she was being._

_"I thought you were my mother." she gasped._

_"Not equipped for that, love" Harry quipped warily._

_She laughed nervously, but didn't look like she intended to let him out of the room._

_Harry looked around. The room was a pretty typical example of its kind, with pink, frilly things sprinkled around a high, four poster bed. What caught his eye were the pencil drawings scattered along the walls and on the desk. Petunia was still leaning against the door, blocking his escape, so he walked over and picked one up. It was of a large, blockish building surrounded by elm trees. The detail of the drawing was exquisite, right down to the carved molding around the front door, and the people lounging on the grass. He thought it might be a school, or a library of some sort. Again, he was surprised, he had never imagined that Petunia could be an artist._

_She had finally moved away from the door and was hovering over his shoulder, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body._

_"I know it's not that good." she said timidly. "I always wanted to study art on the continent, but I doubt that any of the schools there would take me."_

_Harry turned and leaned against the desk, giving his future aunt a thorough inspection with his eyes. He was really starting to have trouble understanding how this shy, artistic, mild-mannered girl had ever morphed into the spiteful woman he knew her as._

_Of course, some of the signs were there. She obviously didn't care much for Lily being a witch, but Harry thought that had more to do with the massive amount of attention that Charles lavished on her sister than actual hatred of the younger girl's "unnaturalness"._

_Petunia ducked her head and fidgeted under Harry's gaze, but didn't try to move any farther away. The picture grew a little clearer in his mind. Putting himself in her place, he wondered how he would react if he had a younger sibling whom his parents were clearly more fond of. Would he pretend not to want any attention, so that it wouldn't hurt so bad when no one noticed him? Would he point out the other person's every tiny fault, even if he had to make them up, in order to make people see that they weren't perfect?_

_Harry could practically feel the hope and desperation radiating off of Petunia like flame from a furnace. Hope that someone would finally notice her, approve of her... maybe even love her. It was a hope he understood all too well, having gone through it himself for much of his childhood. Only, the love he had desired had been refused by the very person who now wanted it from him. He never thought that he would ever feel sorry for his aunt, but right now his heart ached for her._

_"It's a very lovely picture, I think." Harry said softly. "They'd be mad not to take you."_

_Petunia's face bloomed into a ecstatic smile. "Really?" she breathed._

_He smiled at her gently and nodded._

_She seemed to be unable to control her excitement, and the next thing he knew, she was hugging him fiercely, burying her face into his neck. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, which caused her to press her lithe body against him even harder, and tremble ever so slightly._

_Petunia took her head off of his shoulder, but stayed cuddled up against him. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. In Harry's entire life, he had never really noticed the color of her eyes. They were a deep, ocean blue, and shone with the kind of loneliness that only a teenage girl with no real problems could manage._

_He had occasionally wondered just how Petunia and Vernon had gotten together, now he understood. His aunt had spent so much time convincing herself that no one wanted her, that when someone finally did reach out to her, she couldn't help but be swept off her feet. Even if the one doing the sweeping was a boorish, no-necked lout like Vernon. It was the kind of real-life tragedy that happened every day._

_Petunia finally seemed to find her voice. "I... I don't know why I'm acting like this." she whispered, those big blue eyes misting over again. "You must think I'm some kind of tart, but I'm not, really." she said earnestly, trying to make him understand, but seeming unsure of what she really wanted to say._

_For Harry's part, his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He always preferred to think things out logically, but logic was failing him now. His logical brain was telling him to run, to get out of there before things got out of hand, but his heart wasn't listening. His heart wanted to help Petunia, help her stay the person she was now, and avoid becoming the lost soul he knew her as. Logic railed against the very notion, screaming about broken timelines, and future history. All his heart could see was a person who needed his help, a person he was rapidly coming to care about._

_And all Harry's body knew was that there was a pretty girl pressed up against it. It cast its two cents by starting to fill his prick with blood. 'Selfish bugger.' he thought irritably at his cock._

_"It's just that, from the moment I saw you, I felt like I'd known you forever." Petunia said, oblivious to Harry's internal struggle. "I know that sounds stupid, but it's how I feel."_

_"It doesn't sound stupid." Harry reassured her, "In fact, it make a lot of sense."_

_She gave him a funny look, but was suddenly distracted by his thickening erection pushing against her hip. Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, but she still didn't pull away from him. Instead, she adjusted her legs a bit, until she was sure that what she was feeling was really what she thought it was._

_Petunia brought her eyes back up to Harry's. The look on her face wasn't one of revulsion, but rather anticipation, and maybe a little fear. She bit down on her bottom lip, like she was making a decision, then leaned down and laid her lips on top of his._

_The kiss was inexpert, really not much more than a wet bus on the mouth, but Harry could clearly feel her willingness to proceed further. For the first time, the word "incest" popped into his mind, in bright, shining letters. It was a sobering thought. He needed to end this now, before it was too late. But how could he do that without hurting Petunia?_

_Harry was saved by a sharp squeak from one of the stairs. Someone was coming up. Petunia jumped away from him like he was on fire, and practically leapt into the chair in front of the desk. Only seconds later, the door was pushed open, and Iris entered. She stopped in her tracks and blinked when she saw him._

_"Oh, hello Harry." she said, "I didn't know you were in here."_

_Petunia all but had her face buried in her papers, afraid to look up for fear of her mother figuring out that they had just been snogging._

_Harry, more adept at hiding his true feelings, slid easily into his "Charming Young Man" persona._

_"I just stopped by to check on Petunia." he said, the lie rolling smoothly off of his tongue. He didn't like lying, but he could do it with the best of them. "She's been showing me some of her artwork. She's very talented."_

_Iris gave him a warm smile. "Yes she is, isn't she?" She moved over and laid her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "It's nice to see that she's showing someone her work. Usually, even we don't get to see it." Petunia squirmed a bit, and looked even more closely at her papers. At this point, her nose was almost touching the page._

_"Well, I should go and get settled in." Harry said amicably. "It really is lovely work." he said to Petunia, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. He nodded at Iris and went to his room._

_There was no point in settling in, he didn't have anything to settle. He didn't have any clothing or possessions, just what he had transfigured when he had left the hospital. He could wear that forever, cleaning it with magic and transfiguring it into a new style when he needed to. Still, it would be nice to have some real clothes, if only so he didn't have to make any awkward explanations. He made a plan to do some shopping tomorrow._

_But in the meantime, he laid down on the bed and tried to sort through the swirling mess in his brain._

* * *

Staring at the ceiling for ten hours hadn't made things any clearer.

The events of the day had brought a number of long-suppressed emotions crashing back down on Harry. When Petunia had kissed him, he remembered how he used to cry himself to sleep as a small child because she didn't love him. He would lay there in his cupboard, and it was like there was a ragged hole in his heart, an empty vacuum that constantly ached to be filled. He used to think that, if only Aunt Petunia would love him the way she loved Dudley, then that empty place would fill up, and he would be like all the other boys.

She never did, and he never was.

But the feel of Petunia's body against his, and the smoldering look in her eyes that told him that she wanted him as a lover had, for the barest of moments, filled that place back up. In that fraction of a second, in the oddest of circumstances, Harry had felt loved in a way he never had before. It was an intoxicating feeling, and one that a part of him was eager to experience again.

But there were so many obstacles in the way, the fact that they were related being the biggest and most obvious.

Harry rose and walked over to the window. He leaned against the frame and looked out over the small sliver of London visible to him. The street was impossibly normal, the picture of an average, if slightly affluent, English neighborhood. It was an unlikely setting for such a strange and sordid problem.

Just how far was he willing to go to realize a childhood dream? He could never have Petunia's love the way he wanted it before, but he could have it in a different way now. Was that what he wanted? And what about Petunia... what was best for her? Harry knew what the future had in store for her: a life of unhappiness in a dead-end marriage. If he could spare her that fate, wouldn't he be doing her a favor?

Just then, he heard a soft footstep on the attic stairs. A few seconds later, someone was scratching on the door, trying to get his attention without waking the rest of the house.

Harry felt a thrill of excitement when he realized that it must be Petunia coming to see him. He was surprised that she would take such a chance, given her shyness, but she had shown that she could be aggressive before.

He walked over to open the door, then stopped. What could he say to her, when he didn't even know his own mind? Harry growled irritably. Emotions were too complicated at the best of times, but right now they made Hermione's Advanced Arithmancy seem simple. He sighed and opened the door.

Harry blinked. It wasn't Petunia... it was Lily.

His mother stood there, a little wide-eyed in her nightgown, her red hair loose around her shoulders. She seemed a little surprised that he opened the door, and maybe she was. She really hadn't made much noise at all in trying to get his attention, if he hadn't been wide awake he might have missed it.

"I just came to see how you were doing." she said almost defensively, the obvious lie falling out of her mouth like a piece of rancid meat.

Harry took in her appearance, and came to an altogether different, and very surprising, conclusion.

She was wearing a rather snug and sheer gown, parted enough to show a generous amount of cleavage. Her hair was loose, like she was getting ready for bed, but it had an arranged air to it. Harry remembered the way she kept casting glances at him at lunch, and the way she had laid her hand on his arm. Was it possible that Petunia wasn't the only Evans girl that had fallen for him at first sight? Could Lily have come up here to seduce him? Or was he just imagining things?

"Can... uh, can I come in?" Lily asked nervously. Apparently, she had spent so much time building up her courage to come and see him, that she hadn't given much thought to what she would do once they were in the same room.

Harry moved aside and she entered. She looked around the room, trying to make it seem that she was really interested in how he was settling in, but Harry just looked at her. Emotionally, it only hit him just now that this was really his mother. Until that point, he had known it, but he hadn't really felt it. This was really the woman that had given her life, so that he could continue living, who's love for him had been so powerful that it had even stopped the unblockable Killing Curse.

Lily turned and caught him staring at her. A soft smile played across her lips, and she took advantage of his undivided attention by preening herself for him. She shook her hair away from her face and clasped her hands in front of her while turning in profile. Harry quickly found himself distracted by the alluring vision of the young redhead bathed in moonlight.

"What was that?" he asked. She had said something he hadn't caught.

She laughed, a slightly musical sound. "I said that you should take a picture, it'll last longer." Harry actually blushed a little, something he hadn't done in a long time. Lily was definitely coming on to him, and despite him knowing better, it was working.

Seeming more confident now, she walked over to him and took both of his hands, pulling him over to the sofa near the window. Harry was struck by how much shorter she was than her sister. With Petunia, he had to look up to see her face, but Lily only came up to his chin. She indicated that he should sit down, and she sat sideways on the sofa next to him, folding her legs in a way that left her shapely calves exposed.

"So, do you like it here so far?" she asked, still holding on to one of his hands.

"Yeah, I do." he said honestly, "Things have been a little... odd, but I think I'm starting to adjust." Harry stopped and thought for a moment. "To be honest, I wish I had grown up in a house like this." he said, a little wistfully.

Lily looked at him disbelievingly. "This place?" she asked, "Trust me, it's deadly dull here."

"I like dull." Harry told her, "Exciting isn't as much fun as people make it out to be."

She leaned her head against the sofa and looked at him through strands of red hair that had fallen into her eyes. "I could do with a little excitement now and then." she murmured.

Harry wasn't quite ready to go down that road, so he tried to change the subject. He also hoped to get an answer to something that had been bugging him all day.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked.

Lily smiled and nodded.

Harry paused for a moment, trying to decide exactly how he wanted to ask the question. He gave a mental shrug and decided to just say it flat out, then deal with the consequences later.

"Do you know a boy named James Potter?"

He wasn't sure what to expect from Lily at the mention of his father's name, but the one thing he didn't expect was for her to blink in confusion, and politely shake her head. There wasn't even the slightest flicker of recognition on her face.

"Never heard of him." she said, "Is he a relative of yours?"

"Yea... uh, yeah... but I haven't seen him since I was little." Harry managed to stutter out. He was flabbergasted, but was trying desperately not to show it. His mind reeled at the implications of what Lily had so innocently revealed. If she didn't even know who James Potter was, then things were quite a bit more complicated than he thought they were... and that was saying something.

She tilted her head, and regarded him with those pretty green eyes. "Then why did you ask me if I knew him?" she asked.

Harry forcibly pushed the thought of his father out of his mind. He would have to worry on that later, right now he needed all his wits to ensure he didn't reveal too much to Lily.

"I saw a picture of him with his girlfriend a while back, and you look a lot like her. For a second, I thought you might know him." he said, smoothing his face so he didn't look so much like a fish on a hook.

She accepted that and they exchanged some more small talk. She told him about her school, leaving out any mention of magic, and he related a few equally-edited tidbits about his own life. It was an odd conversation, but one that Harry was enjoying immensely. From what Lily was telling him, she was more of a trouble-maker than he had ever imagined. Right now, she was telling him about a prank she had pulled on a classmate.

"You died his hair pink!" he laughed.

"Well, he shouldn't have fallen asleep in the common room!" she answered, "And he really shouldn't have pinched my bum." she muttered afterwards.

Harry snickered at that, and Lily tried to change the subject. Looking down, she noticed that she was still holding onto his hand. She ran her thumb slowly across the back of it, making goosebumps rise on Harry's arm.

"Can I read your palm?" she asked suddenly.

"What for?"

Lily gave him a playful look. "Because it'll be fun. Besides, it's part of my homework for the summer." she said, a coy smile tugging at the edge of her lips.

Harry played along. "What kind of school teaches palm-reading?" he asked, pretending he didn't know the answer.

Lily's smile grew a little wider. "It's a progressive school." she explained, sure that he had no idea what she was talking about. She gave his hand a squeeze. "Pleeeese?" she asked, giving him a heart-melting, green-eyed puppy-dog look.

He smiled at her, and nodded. She gave a little squeal and motioned for him to face her on the couch. She shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged in front of him. Harry couldn't help but notice that she had moved even closer to him, and that, from the position she was in, he had an absolutely glorious view of the rounded inner slopes of her breasts. He was pretty sure that it wasn't an accident.

Lily held his hand between them, her tiny, soft fingers rubbing his palm in circles. She had her eyes on his face, searching for a reaction to her overt flirting.

Harry wasn't sure how he should be reacting. Lily was definitely turning him on, but it was happening way too fast. An hour ago, he had been wondering if he should enter into a romantic relationship with his aunt, now his mother was putting the moves on him. It was the kind of thing that put sane people in therapy. Then again, Harry wasn't really all that sane.

Lily glanced down at his palm, and her brow immediately knitted in confusion. She made a strange noise in her throat, and tilted his hand so that the moonlight illuminated it better.

"That's not right." she muttered worriedly.

Harry chuckled. Divination, except for very rare cases, was a crock of shit. But if Lily wanted to play it up, he would let her.

"Bad news?" he asked.

She glanced back up at him, a bewildered look on her face.

"Kind of." she replied, seeming utterly serious. "You don't have a Life-Line."

Harry opened his mouth, then blinked and closed it again. "Huh?" he said, now as confused as she was.

Lily held up his hand and pointed. "See? It should be right here, but it's not."

He looked, and sure enough, she was right. In the place where his Life-Line had always been, there was now only normal skin. If Lily was confused, then Harry was absolutely mystified. He was sure that he'd had one before, but where had it gone? He leaned in and peered at his palm, but still couldn't discern anything where his Life-Line should be.

"That's just odd." Lily whispered softly.

Harry glanced up at her, and found her face bare inches away from his. Her hair had fallen into her face again, and the moonlight gave it the look of embers in a fire. Lily's face was in a shadow, but her eyes seemed to catch what little light there was, and reflect it back out. Harry didn't think he had ever seen anything so heartbreakingly beautiful in his entire life.

He didn't even realize that he was moving forward until his lips brushed against hers. Lily's mouth was incredibly soft and pliant, and his tongue snaked out for a taste, skimming across her top lip before coming back and allowing him to nibble along the bottom one. Lily let out a soft whine, and opened her mouth wider for him as he pressed even harder against it. She was an inexperienced kisser, but less so than her older sister, which Harry found a little strange.

Lily's hands found their way to his head, her fingers running through his long, black hair as she rose to her knees to get a better angle. Her tongue ventured out and tentatively touched his, and he greeted it with a soft brush of his own, before allowing her to take control of the kiss. She gently pushed him back so that he was leaning against the arm of the sofa, and straddled his waist, never once breaking contact with his lips.

She pushed her body against his, and Harry placed his hands on her tiny waist. Lily was a small girl, but Harry was no giant himself, and she felt just right in his arms. Her tongue made one last pass across his lips before she came up for air.

"You have no idea how much I've been wanting to do that." she gulped out between heavy breaths, leaning her forehead against his, her hair falling to either side of his face like a scarlet curtain. Those expressive green eyes had a contented, loving gleam to them. Lily brought her lips to his again, just a soft peck, almost as if she were confirming that he was really there.

'Well, boy, you've really stuck your foot in it now.' Harry thought to himself. Oddly, his internal voice sounded a lot like Uncle Vernon. Vernon's favorite thing in the world was to tell Harry what he had done wrong, but Harry was pretty sure that even he would be at a loss for words right now. Objectively, he knew that what he was doing was wrong, but something just kept pushing him forward. Whether it was whatever unseen force that had brought him here, or just his own unresolved issues concerning his mother and aunt was irrelevant at this point.

Harry placed his hands on either side of Lily's face, stroking her smooth cheeks with his thumbs. She closed her eyes and sighed at the contact. He kissed her again, while mentally making a checklist of all the reasons why he shouldn't.

He let his hands slowly slide down her face, his fingertips brushing her soft neck, on their way to the laces of her gown. His stomach was tight and his shoulders tense, but it seemed so natural to take the next step.

Lily's hands gently caught his wrists on their way down. She brought his hands to her lips and kissed them, but looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Harry." she whispered, "But I'm not ready to go any further." She leaned down and kissed him again. "Please understand... it's not that I don't like you, because I really do. It's just that I'm not ready." She looked a little afraid that he would reject her for stopping his advances.

Harry felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water on him. Had he really only been moments away from making love to his own mother? His mind was going in fifty different directions at the same time.

When he didn't say anything, Lily seemed to grow uncomfortable. She got off of him and stood next to the sofa for a moment, looking at him with sad eyes.

"I'll just go back to my room." she whispered, before moving towards the door. She opened it and stopped, looking back at Harry and seeming to have a disagreement with herself. She finally shook her head and went downstairs, closing the door quietly behind her.

Harry dropped his head back against the armrest. The discordant emotions surging through him had left him as exhausted as any battle he'd ever fought.

What was he supposed to do now? He had thought his life was complicated when all he had to worry about was saving the world, but right now the war between good and evil seemed pretty simple. He got up and staggered over to the bed, flopping down face first.

He wanted to worry about the problem some more, but his mind wouldn't focus on one thought long enough to think it out. Sleep quickly rushed at him, but before he dropped off, one coherent thought did flash through his head.

"Petunia and Lily are going to kill each other when they find out."


End file.
